


two strangers learn to fall in love again

by badboy_fangirl



Series: Puck and Quinn future!fic [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: F/M, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-04
Updated: 2012-01-04
Packaged: 2017-10-28 22:29:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/312866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badboy_fangirl/pseuds/badboy_fangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>A month goes by, and he listens to Quinn's message too many times, wondering what he expects to hear in those seven words that will set him on the right course.</i> (Sequel to "You Make It Hard To Be Faithful.")</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a line lifted from "Faithfully" by Journey (New Directions). Beta'd by the famous and wonderful becca_radcgg whose entire goal in life, I feel, is to make me a better writer. I ♥ her.

Everything is such a blur those first few days after he hears Quinn's message that he doesn't even feel bad about not returning her phone call. Then days stretch into weeks and he starts eating Tums like they're candy because guilt is eating a hole in his stomach. Responsibility wars with anger at the certainty that she did it on purpose–-not fucking him, obviously she'd been upfront about that–-but to intentionally get pregnant? He can't get his mind around that any more than he can the fact that there is another child out there, fathered by him so fucking cluelessly.

He fumbles through everything from work to his poker night to his home life with Maria, and the constant question from the people who care about him is "What is up with you?"

So he lies. And lies, and _lies. I'm fine. I'm tired. I'm hungover_. They work for the most part, but Maria notices that he's losing weight, too. He's not eating like normal (because he's _not_ hungry, but his intake of Jack Daniel's has increased, so there’s that), and he feels like such a girl.

A month goes by, and he listens to Quinn's message too many times, wondering what he expects to hear in those seven words that will set him on the right course. And the woman he'd fallen in love with so easily, who would have always remained completely in the dark about his one-time dalliance, begins to look at him with suspicious eyes. He can feel everything falling apart. He's grasping at the pieces of his life, trying with all his might to hold it together, but at the back of every thought is Quinn and his child. He feels so much like that high school kid all over again that his temper becomes frayed, and anything and everything sets him off.

He actually thinks about calling Finn, even though they haven't talked in years, and then he wonders what the fuck good that would do. Then he realizes he wishes someone would just beat the shit out of him for being so fucking stupid, all over again. It's like he never learned anything from giving up Alicia, or he somehow let Quinn fuck with his head so much that it's like he's just standing there again, silently, while someone else picks up the obligation for him. It swirls around in his head, the two parts of his life mixing until every time he closes his eyes and dreams, he's back in that hospital room, and suddenly he's the mean one, he's the one who has to take the baby away from Quinn because she's changed her mind when she never wanted his kid, not once the entire time she was pregnant. (That's what really happened, but he hadn't picked up on the irony before.)

He wakes up one day and understands what his subconscious has been working out this whole time: maybe she hadn't wanted Alicia until it was too damn late, but this time is completely different. She did it on purpose because it's what she wants, and for the life of him, he can't figure out _why_ she wants it.

Things drift, and before he knows it, it's September 11th. A bunch of the FDNY guys head to down to Myrtle Beach for a Golf Tournament they throw every year, but Puck declines and stays home, working double sleepover shifts for a few days to allow those who want to go adequate travel time.

When he gets home after the third day, he's beyond exhausted, the physical depletion overwhelming the emotional rollercoaster he rides daily. He can't outrun it, that much is obvious, especially after he yells at Maria about some stupid thing. "That's it," she says quietly, putting her clenched fists on her hips. Facing him across the back of the sofa, she demands, "You either tell me what the fuck is going on here, or you get the hell out."

She points at the door, and he looks at it for a long moment. When his gaze returns to her face, she's got tears in her eyes, and he can't believe how easy the decision is.

*

Quinn's office is in the upstairs portion of the Arts Studio, across the hall from her partner's. She glances up just as he pokes his head through her slightly ajar door. "Hey, Momma, it's almost six. Get outta here and get some rest."

She smiles at her best friend and taps the ledger with her pencil. "I'm just inputting these figures, and then I'm on my way."

"I'll see you tomorrow, bright and early, right?" he asks.

"You better be there," she says, mock glaring at him.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world. Justine will open in the morning."

"Thanks, Lyndon," she says.

"I'm so excited," he responds, and Quinn feels her chest get tight.

"Yes," she nods. "So am I." The huge grin that spreads over her face doesn't feel as foreign as it had just a few months earlier. Nowadays, she smiles so much, she actually suffers from _cheek aches_ sometimes.

Pregnancy really agrees with her.

Lyndon raps his knuckles against the door and gives her a final _go home soon_ look before leaving her office. She finishes entering the revenue they received that day and then closes her ledger book. Of course they had all this sort of stuff on the computer, and they had an accountant that handled their big financial matters, but Quinn is as thorough in the finances of the company as she is in her daily ballet classes. Every detail matters.

She's going to have a child in a few months, and being financially stable has been a huge part of her preparation for that. Their business did very well, and her partnership with Lyndon was one of the few relationships she'd had that had endured through the years. They'd met in college, and it had been a natural progression of things between them to get into business together. Neither of them was ever going to be world famous for singing and dancing, but they certainly could start some other people's dreams on that track.

Locking her files into the safe, she gathers her sweater and purse and heads out to her car. It's early October, the first few days of autumn settling in, and the leaves on the trees have already started turning burnished gold in color. She really loves Ohio in the spring and autumn. Summer was too hot, and winter was too cold, but for the first time ever, she looks forward to wintertime. In February, her child will be born, and the joy she feels warms her from the inside out. She knows for the first time, her house won't be so cold.

She turns the deadbolt to lock the side door and drops her key ring into her purse. Slipping her hand into the side pocket, she finds the remote for her Hybrid, and is just about to pop the trunk to put her bag inside when she hears someone say her name.

She gasps in surprise, partly because she'd thought she was alone in the fading daylight of the small parking lot, and partly because when her eyes connect with Puck's, she's suddenly breathless. Gasping is her only chance at oxygen.

"Oh. My. God," she says, because that's the only thing that comes to mind. She stops moving, standing just a foot or two from the back end of her Nissan Altima. Her purse drops to the ground as her arm fails to hold it up and she feels a little faint. Clenching her teeth, she straightens her shoulders and swears that she's not going to pass out at his feet, even though it would make much more sense if she were to wake unexpectedly and find that it's all a dream. (Not that she ever dreamed he'd come to find her, because she hadn't.)

She wants to ask him what he's doing there, but she finds that any words she might have had have melted away. He's wearing a white wifebeater under a black leather jacket, and tight dark jeans set low on his hips, and she wonders if he's trying to make her want him, or if he knows about pregnancy hormones.

Knowing Puck, it's entirely possible.

But when she looks at his expression, even in the shadowy light, she realizes she doesn't know him at all, not really. On some level a part of her thought she would always know him, and know his reaction to certain things, but the logical part of her brain succumbs to the fear she should have considered when she made that phone call at the end of July.

Telling him had been the right thing; living with telling him could go oh-so-wrong.

"So," he says, and he gestures at her middle section. She's not huge; in fact her belly had really only popped up a week or so earlier, something she'd impatiently waited for. This time she wanted to look pregnant. She didn't resent gaining weight, because this child was her choice. (Her saving grace, perhaps.)

She finally chokes out an airy "Hi," and he purses his lips like he always does when he's annoyed.

It's all she's got. She never prepared herself for this, because it was never going to happen.

Her second try is, "I didn't think you'd...wait, how did you know how to find me?"

He glances down at the pavement beneath his feet and shrugs a little. "I called your folks. By the way, they know you're pregnant. Thought I ought to know since I was looking you up."

She laughs quietly. "Yes, I told them first thing. They couldn't kick me out this time. And they couldn't be mad at me for dating a Jewish boy, since I didn't tell them who the father was. Did you tell them?"

A little smile touches his mouth, and Quinn feels her heart break wide open. She'd only gone to New York for this, for the baby she carried under her heart now, but she wanted-- _wants_ \--so much more. With him standing in front of her, this horrible sense of hope fills her chest, but she quells it quickly. This could go either way, and more than likely it will go badly.

"No," he shakes his head. "Didn't feel like it was my place."

She takes a deep breath. Her chest still feels unbearably tight. Speechless again, she turns from him and pops open the trunk, just to give herself something to do. Slinging her bag into the back of her car, she's startled when he's right there, helping her close the lid. He's close, but not too close, and Quinn feels her legs start shaking. Or maybe they've been shaking the whole time, but she's only just noticed it.

"You did it on purpose, didn't you?"

There's no accusation in his voice. She's not sure what she hears there besides curiosity. It's almost like he's baffled by the whole idea. And perhaps he is, and that's why it's taken him more than two months to respond to her call.

"I--" she starts automatically to tell the truth, but when she hesitates, he steps closer to her. She glances at him, seeing that boy she once knew and a man that's mostly a stranger to her all at once. She can't decide if honesty is the best route.

"Dammit, Quinn," he growls, and there's a little bit more of what she's familiar with mixed in a flash of anger. "How could you do that? How could you just come in and wreck my life like that?"

She jerks her head back, stunned by that assessment. "I didn't wreck anything," she says. "I would never tell anyone, your life doesn't have to change at all--"

"Right, I'm just gonna let you give another of my kids away? Or maybe I'm just gonna let you have it, with no support? I didn't do that when I was 16, what the fuck makes you think I'd do it now?"

"I didn't ask you for anything!" she shouts.

"Then why did you call me to tell me? Why did you think I should know?" He grabs her arm then and she tries to escape, even though she knows his strength and that she could only ever get away from him if he allowed it. She wrenches herself back anyway and he yanks her into him harder. She gasps again when their bodies collide, and she can feel his breath hot on her face. She can smell the whiskey then, and the proximity takes her back to that evening in New York.

It's a little sickening that the smell of alcohol has somehow become a turn on for her.

She closes her eyes and steels herself, pushing those thoughts away. Gritting her teeth, she forces the words out, "You deserved to know."

He shakes her a little bit, but doesn't speak until she opens her eyes and looks at him. "I deserved to know _before_ hand, not after!" His voice goes up in volume for the first time when he adds, "Not when my baby was already inside you."

"Maybe you should have used some birth control," she snaps. "Oh, but that's right, you don't _ever_ do that. You think pulling out will work as well as a condom."

"I didn't _pull out_ that night, and you never once asked me about birth control!"

"I think you lost your right to have unprotected sex a long time ago!" She can't believe how angry she feels suddenly, and she pushes hard against his chest, catching him by surprise. He loses his grip on her arm and she backs away from him, circling around the end of her car to get to the driver's side.

"Just wait a fuckin' minute," he calls hotly and she can feel him coming after her.

Whirling, she throws her hands out, shoving him back again. "Leave me alone!" she cries. "I don't know what you came here for, but I don't need this. I don't need _you_. I didn't ask you for anything, and I don't _want_ anything. Consider yourself off the hook. Go home to Maria and live your little life, and don't worry about the damn birth control with her!"

"Goddamn you, Quinn," he mutters and she feels his hand curl around her elbow again. "Maria kicked me out. And maybe you don't need me, but that kid's mine, and you aren't gonna fuckin' steal it from me. Do you understand?" He hauls her closer, pulling her up so that their faces are level. "You don't get to have everything while I've got nothing."

Quinn's mouth opens automatically, a response trembles on her tongue, something perfectly awful that would wound him and make him retreat. She knows what to do here, she'd perfected it when they'd been together in high school. He's never bested her during an argument. He could make her bend to him in bed, but never when they sparred with words.

But nothing comes out. She doesn't say anything, she just sort of gapes at him as what he said registers in her brain. Does he really think she has everything? If she had everything, would she have flown to New York City to _steal_ his baby? The only thing she has is his child; the rest of it is meaningless to her, no matter how hard she works at it. That's been the problem all these years, the only two things that had ever mattered to her were far away from her, all because of the choices she made.

So she tells the truth, and cringes as she does it. "Yes. Yes, I did it on purpose."

His eyes search hers, and then he pushes her up against the car with his body. His hands surround her face, and his mouth covers hers. She gasps again, and he takes the opportunity to stroke his tongue over hers. It's an oddly sweet kiss considering the angry current between them at the moment and Quinn finds her fingers gripping the leather over his upper arms, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away. He tastes like Jack Daniel's, the flavor that's been in her head since May.

He ends it too quickly, disengaging their mouths, but his forehead comes to rest against hers and he whispers, "Why?" so poignantly that she barely has time to register that she's crying because his thumbs are already wiping at her cheeks and his lips keep glancing off of hers. He's not kissing her, but they're sharing oxygen, and their open mouths keep rubbing and bumping clumsily. She can feel everything, his muscled body hot against her front and her car cold and hard behind her.

She pushes him back, only so she can get clean air. She won't be able to answer him if she stays so close to him, because if all she can smell and touch and taste is him, she'll forget that words are even important.

Not angry words of defense and protection, but the truth, the things he needs to hear so he can stop hating her for what she's done to him.

"It's hard to explain," she starts.

He interrupts with "Try," that's mostly a plea, but partly a command. She nods, reaching a hand up to touch his face. He stares at her as she smoothes her fingers over the curve of his jaw. There are so many things to say in that moment, but she leads with why she went to New York. (Maybe later there will be time for everything else.)

"I've been empty, for so long. Broken, like something inside me was missing. I've always just assumed it was her, and you, and the fact that I didn't have either of you. But then I started to think about how if I had a child now, maybe that would help. Fill up the holes--make it better. So I started really thinking about making it happen, and then it was--her birthday was coming up. And I'd seen your mother the last time I was in Lima. I knew you were still in New York, and I had this crazy idea. I know it makes no sense, but it could only have been yours. _Ours_. If I was going to do it, it had to be that way.

"But then I got there, and you were happy. You had someone. So what was I going to say? I hadn't really intended to ask you anyway, but obviously I wasn't going to when I knew you wouldn't want to be with me."

She pauses, because she doesn't think she can lay herself anymore bare than that. Then she feels the tears descend even further down her cheeks, so she covers her face with her hands to wipe away some of it. He backs up a little, putting more space between their bodies. Using the sleeve of her sweater to mop up the excess, she knows she must look terrible, but when she hazards a glance at him, he's not looking at her face. Instead his hands lower carefully until they cover the small mound of her stomach, and she hiccups, the residual tears still shuddering through her chest.

Enthralled by his expression, she finds the nerve to ask, "Maria threw you out because you told her about m--the baby?"

*

She's small right now, only 20 weeks along (yes, he did the math, he's been keeping track all along, unable to pass by a calendar without mentally calculating it), and his hands cover the bump easily.

She's wearing a frilly white shirt, a lot like the ones he remembers her wearing when she was pregnant in high school, and there's so much about all of it that's like fucking _déjà vu_ , but this Quinn--this woman telling him how empty and sad she's been isn't the same girl who'd verbally castrated him on a regular basis and then made it up to him with sexual favors.

He makes a noise, something that sounds sort of negative as his response to her question about Maria, then flips up her shirt and puts his hands directly on her skin.

"Puck!" she exclaims, and he wants her so much, so quickly. All the irritation and anger funnel into a hard-on that his jeans don't have much room for. Quinn's hands automatically land on his forearms, but she hesitates just long enough that when she doesn't push him away he takes more liberties. Sliding the last two fingers of each hand under the waistband of her skirt, his palms cover her entirely, and she arches into him.

He kneels down in front of her. "You never let me touch you then," he says, his mouth against her belly. She'd lived with him through much of her first pregnancy, but they hadn't really been together then, so they weren't having sex and she'd never let him see her belly. Who knows, maybe back then he hadn't been interested in it, but he sure as hell is interested now.

"I know," she whispers.

Puck takes a deep breath and reminds himself that they're in a public parking lot, and stripping her down out here isn't what he came to do anyway.

Not that he'd really had a plan. He's been in Columbus for three hours already and all he'd managed to do is locate the Motel 6 and rent a room. Then he found a bar a few doors down from that where he had a couple drinks to give him the balls to do whatever he was going to do.

He isn't going to sex her up against her car, for sure, but now it's all muddled, and he really doesn't know what he intended. Maybe with Quinn, the fucking is always implied. He can't do anything without wanting the other, no matter how pissed she gets him.

He'd never had a plan with her, he'd just always led with how he felt.

It had obviously been a dumb way to do everything.

Her fingers tentatively slide through the hair on the back of his head, and she asks, "Why did Maria throw you out?"

He rests his cheek against her soft skin for a moment, calming himself, and then he gets back on his feet. Carefully he lowers her shirt so she's covered, removing his hands from her skirt before looking into her eyes. "She didn't throw me out," he says. "I left."

That's the truth. Of course, if he'd told her he knocked up some other chick, she would have thrown him out for sure, but it's all semantics now. He hadn't come here because Maria tossed his ass out, and he didn't go to the city that night to get Quinn pregnant. But that's how things had turned out, and some crazy part of him thinks maybe this is how it's supposed to be.

But he's not ready, or even capable, of saying that to her right now. He just stares at her, looking for some kind of cue.

"Why did you leave?" Quinn asks.

He shakes his head. "I never shoulda been there."

For a million reasons: he hadn't ever told her the whole story; it was a fantasy; she was in love with the idea of him, not who he really was; he would never love anyone or want anyone or need anyone the way he did Quinn Fabray; he didn't think he would ever have what other people considered a normal life, and faking it with Maria wasn't going to last forever anyway. Better to get out before it got worse.

A million reasons. Not one of them escapes his lips, though. "Don't make me beg to be this baby's daddy," he says, and maybe that's the heart of it right there.

A sob erupts from her mouth and she starts crying some more (still? maybe she'd been crying the whole time, he doesn't know) and she whispers, "No, I won't," and then they're hugging, and Puck buries his face in the curve of her neck. They are so fucked up, but when she whispers that she has an ultrasound in the morning, and asks him if he wants to go, he's afraid he's going to start crying, too.

He agrees, and she writes down directions from the Motel 6 to her doctor's office.

"9:30?" he asks, even though he heard her quite clearly.

"9:30," she reconfirms.

He wishes she'd invite him to her house, but he knows it's probably better that they don't blur it up anymore with sex.

But man, does he want to blur it up. He settles for kissing her mouth (with no tongue) and palming her belly again (over her shirt) before helping her into her car. Watching her drive away, he longs for things he never even knew he wanted.

*

Quinn arrives at the doctor's office a little early--closer to nine, and she hopes Lyndon will be his normal _fifteen minutes early is really five minutes late_ self so she can explain it to him. She'd tried calling him the night before, but he hadn't returned her call, and she didn't want to leave a message, or send a text about Puck.

Of course, Lyndon knows everything about Puck, and he doesn't like him on principle alone, mostly because Quinn seems to cry whenever she speaks of him. It isn't Puck's fault, but she knows her friend well enough to know he might get pretty mouthy, given the chance. The other thing she knows is that if provoked, Puck could do serious damage to Lyndon.

When she sees his car pull into the parking lot just a few spaces down from hers, she jumps out and rushes to tell him.

"I'm sorry I didn't get your message until just now," he starts explaining as he climbs out of the driver's seat. "My phone died last night, so by the time it was rechar--"

"Lyndon, shut up! Puck's here. He showed up last night, so I invited him to come this morning, and you, you have to be nice, because--"

"What?" he demands, slamming his car door hard behind him. He reaches out, grasping her shoulders to hold her steady in front of him. "He just showed up, _now_ , after all this time? And you're just letting him come to the ultrasound and play daddy like it's been the plan all along? Quinn, no. _No._ You have got to be reasonable about this, we agreed--"

"He _is_ the father, Lyndon. And if he wants to be involved, I'm going to let him."

"Quinn--"

"Listen to me," she pleads.

He shakes his head at her, his eyes flashing. "You've been living with this ridiculous fantasy all these years, sweetie. And even though you somehow managed to make this happen," he gestures at her pregnant belly, "--it's still a fantasy. Quinn, seriously! What do you think some guy who knocked you up in high school has to offer you now--"

Quinn puts her hand over Lyndon's mouth to get him to stop talking. "You know," she whispers. " _You know_. I never got over him. And maybe this is as crazy as we've talked about it being, but I have to try. I have to see. I have to know, for sure. And he's here. He came, and he--wants the baby, just as much as I do."

Lyndon reaches up and pulls her hand gently away from his mouth. "That's not the same as wanting _you_ ," he says, his voice soft, as though anything he does with his voice could take the reality out of those words.

"I know," she whispers, and she starts shaking, the inner quaking of her heart trembling out through her muscles. "But maybe...maybe he will want me." She straightens her spine and lifts her chin. "And if he doesn't, then at least this baby will have two parents who love it. That's the least I owe my child."

Lyndon looks at her for a long moment without saying anything. When he pulls her into an embrace, he says, "Am I just an enabler? Have I done nothing all these years to show you the hopelessness of it?"

Quinn shakes her head against his shoulder. "I'm not stupid," she says. "I might be crazy, but I'm not stupid. I know it could all blow up in my face." She lifts her head and looks into his eyes. "But what if it works out? What if..."

Lyndon stiffens in her arms, and she realizes the subject of their conversation must have arrived. She turns just in time to see his truck come to a stop on the far side of Lyndon's car. The New York plates give him away. As Puck gets out of the car, she turns her head and whispers, "Be nice."

"Hey," he says, giving her a questioning smirk as his eyes wander over to Lyndon.

"Hi," she says, and she can feel the smile on her face threatening to crack her skin. She tries to control it, but she can't. She's been feeling the small flutters of her child for a couple of weeks now, but this morning, she felt it more strongly than ever before, and she can't help but think it's tied to Puck's presence. All three of them move up onto the sidewalk that leads to the door of the office building, and Quinn says, "Puck, this is Lyndon McNeil, my best friend and business partner. Lyndon, this is Noah Puckerman, my..."

She falters and is about to say _ex-boyfriend_ no matter how juvenile it sounds when Puck steps forward and sticks his hand out for the introduction. "Baby Daddy. I'm the baby daddy."

Lyndon shakes his hand, only because he doesn't know what else to do, and Quinn laughs because it's all so very awkward. "Lyndon had planned to be here with me for this, so I hope you don't mind," she says, inclining her head towards Puck. She doesn't really care if it bothers Puck, and she wouldn't send Lyndon away even if he made a big stink, but he doesn't, he just flashes that winning smile and says, "No problem!" before they all head into the building.

As they're waiting in the lobby, it's painfully silent, and when Quinn's eyes meet Lyndon's, he's screaming at her, but when she looks at Puck, there's some kind of wonderful joy simmering between them. She almost wishes she could ask her friend to leave, but she knows Lyndon can be a drama queen, so she doesn't start anything.

She's just thankful the men aren't really looking at each other or trying to engage in any conversation. They're only waiting a few minutes before the nurse comes and calls Quinn's name. They follow her back to the exam rooms, and the nurse directs Puck and Lyndon to the ultrasound room to wait so she can take Quinn's vitals. As she's getting weighed, the nurse asks her, "Now you drank at least 32 ounces of water before you came, right?"

Quinn nods, and suddenly becomes aware of how much she needs to use the bathroom. "Yes," she murmurs. "It's kind of mean to do that to a pregnant woman, you know. Like I don't have to pee every five minutes anyway."

The nurse laughs as she leads Quinn into a changing room. "Oh, honey, I know. But as soon as you've seen your little one, you can hop right into the restroom. There's one in the tech room." She hands Quinn a smock to change into. "You can leave your underwear on," she says, smiling as she backs out of the room. "Just stick your head out the door when you're ready and I'll take you where you need to go."

"Thank you," Quinn says. As she unbuttons her top, she notices her hands are shaking. She's about to find out if she's got a son or a daughter growing inside her, and she's understandably conflicted about the whole thing. She pulls off her pants and tugs the hospital gown up over her shoulders.

She remembers another ultrasound, and how foreign it had felt. Her biggest concern then had been about the gel they used to locate the baby ruining her Cheerios uniform. Maybe this time, she'd get another little girl, one she could make all that up too, one that had been wanted from before she was even conceived; one that would never be taken for granted.

She takes a deep breath and opens the door to find the nurse waiting for her.

*

Sitting in the ultrasound room, Puck rests his left ankle on his right knee and taps his fingers against his leg. He glances over at Lyndon, who is quietly observing the machinery in the room from the chair right next to Puck's. He can't explain how he feels right now, the anticipation of seeing his baby on the little TV that sits in the corner makes him feel both nervous as hell and sort of horny.

Or maybe that's just Quinn. There's no telling really, because when he saw her standing there in the bright sunshine, he felt a lot of different things, but one look at the joker next to her had given him pause. For about five seconds, really.

"So," he says now, drawing Lyndon's attention to him. "You gay?"

Quinn's business partner arches a brow at him and smiles in a way that isn't friendly. "As a matter of fact, I am. But that doesn't mean I don't have any say in what's going on here."

Puck snorts, a reaction he's unable to muffle. "You don't have any say when it comes to the kid. It's half mine, by law."

Lyndon shifts in his chair so that he's facing Puck a bit more. "If you think my primary concern is the child, you're greatly mistaken."

Puck holds his gaze, and replies, "Ditto."

"If you hurt her, in anyway, I'll make sure it's virtually impossible for you to see your child."

Puck scoffs. "If _I_ hurt her? You do know how all this happened, right? I mean, she fucking seduced me for my sperm."

"If you think all she wants is your _sperm_ , you're as stupid as I've always suspected."

Puck's right hand curls into a fist, and he's about to lose what little patience he has for this guy when the door opens and Quinn and the technician ("Hi, I'm Marcie," she says) come in. Quinn looks at him first, which he counts as a victory and he stands up automatically, like royalty has just entered the room. She smiles, a beam of light practically shooting out of her face at him.

He glances back at Lyndon, who's watching him, not Quinn, and Puck thinks maybe he likes him. Maybe he's just who Quinn needs in her life to make sure she doesn't get involved with a douchebag like him.

But it's too late for that. About eleven years too late, actually. She's involved. He's involved. They're all merrily fucking involved, and as Quinn settles on the examination table, Puck steps forward until he's standing beside her. He threads his fingers through hers and she squeezes his hand tightly, her green eyes brilliant under the fluorescent lights.

She laughs nervously and covers her mouth with her free hand. It's endearing, and he can't help but think he's never met this girl before--the one who so joyfully carries his baby. "You ready?" he asks, his stomach knotting up in a familiar acidic ache.

"So ready," she answers.

Lyndon comes to stand beside him and Marcie says, "This is probably going to feel a little cold." Quinn's gasp confirms that truth and Puck closes his eyes as the rollercoaster goes through a corkscrew.


	2. Chapter 2

Quinn keeps her focus on the monitor, fighting the urge every five seconds or so to turn her head and look at Puck. Instead, she concentrates on the warmth of his hand in hers, and how his fingers intermittently squeeze hers. Marcie moves the transducer over her belly for only a few moments before she crows, "There you go!"

Quinn can see it as easily as she can the shape of her baby's head. A tiny little penis and scrotum are right there, and she lets a breath go when she realizes she'd been holding it in.

"Boys are never shy," Marcie says. "Always proud to show off their parts."

Puck laughs a little, the sound sort of failing at the end like he too is out of air.

Quinn finally lets herself look at him and she can't help what flies out of her mouth. "Like father, like son." His gaze jumps to hers before he laughs really loudly. (She notices that Lyndon flinches at the sound.)

"Holy shit, Q," he wheezes a second later. In a quick motion, he rubs at his cheeks with the back of his free hand suspiciously, and Quinn's heart clenches.

"Everything looks great," Marcie continues and Quinn turns her attention to the woman. "Healthy, normal size for how many weeks you're along. Looking good, _Mamacita_."

"Thank you," Quinn says.

"I assume you'd like a copy of this?" Marcie says, using a few tissues to wipe the gel from Quinn's abdomen.

"Yes, ma'am," Puck answers. "Could we get two, actually?" he asks.

Marcie nods and flashes a smile at him before looking back at Quinn. "I'll take care of that while you get dressed. Don't forget," she points over her shoulder, "about the bathroom. You must be bursting right about now."

Quinn agrees, but she's not sure if it's her heart or her bladder that's about to explode.

When she tries to sit up, Puck's hand slides under her back, helping her. For just a short span of time when their eyes meet, she can't think about anything except how perfect this moment is. Of course she's having a boy this time--and it snowballs from there into how he's going to be the best child that ever existed, and how she's going to love him so much, and how his father is going to be so proud of him. Puck hugs her enthusiastically, if a little awkwardly, and the strength of the squeeze he gives her is enough to bring the urgency in her bladder completely to the forefront of her mind.

She gets off the table, and heads towards the toilet. He says, "I'll wait here for you," and she nods and closes the door behind her just as she hears a cell phone ring. She knows it's not hers, as she left it in her purse in the changing room.

As she relieves herself, she takes several moments to breathe deeply. She washes her hands in the small sink next to the toilet, and when her eyes come up in the mirror and she looks at herself, she's grinning again. It's the happiness in that woman's face that strikes her as odd and she feels tears right behind her smile, but she knows they're tears of pure unadulterated joy. Whatever happens between her and Puck, good or bad, she will always be someone's mother, and nothing can ruin that.

A boy. _Her_ little baby boy. To keep, to have, to raise. _Hers_.

Hers and Puck's.

She opens the door and he's standing there, alone in the room. She looks around questioningly, but before she can ask where Lyndon is, Puck steps forward and says, "He had to take a call."

"Oh," she says, and suddenly she longs for her best friend in a way that disorients her. She's not ready for this, for being alone with Puck, with it all out in the open in broad daylight. That's why she'd retreated the night before, why she had just left him standing in the parking lot in a city he didn't know his way around very well.

She places her hand against the doorjamb to steady herself, and he closes the distance between them. "Alright?" he asks, and his hands reach out to land on her hips.

The smock she's wearing has a few buttons at the top, but it's mostly just a hold-it-closed-yourself outfit, and Quinn hadn't been thinking about it much while she was semi-exposed on the exam table. Now, she's painfully aware that all she has on under it are grandma panties and a bra. "Yeah--yes," she murmurs, looking up at him. He's sober this morning, which she counts as a good thing. He hadn't been drunk the night before (she remembered drunk!Puck all too easily), but she still appreciates the fact that he's completely clear-headed today. "Just... _just_ ," she ends up saying because she can't find the words to express herself right now.

"It's a boy," he says, and the smile inching over his face makes her grin in return.

"I know," she says.

He hesitates just a moment--she can literally see the second when he mentally thinks _fuck it._ His gaze flickers between her mouth and her eyes, and he shakes his head marginally before he leans into her and his hands slip from her hips to the small of her back and she's flush against him when he kisses her.

If she thought the kiss from the night before had been sweet, then she'd obviously never been kissed by him when he was actually _trying_. (Maybe she had, a really long time ago, but she couldn't recall any of that presently.) His tongue makes lazy forays around and over her bottom lip, dipping into her mouth and retreating teasingly so that her tongue follows his instinctively. He angles his head a little more to the left so that their mouths go wider; Quinn moans because it feels amazing, and she needs to be closer, but she's already pressed against his chest, and she thinks her feet aren't even on the ground anymore. Then she feels his hands under her bottom and the doorjamb behind her and he's curling his tongue around hers and they're back in her mouth now, and _oh, god_. She mindlessly rubs against him because everything about the kiss is so much like lovemaking that she can only think _please, please, please_ and then she hears someone clearing their throat. Puck pulls away, although very, very reluctantly, and his fingers squeeze her bottom before he carefully lowers her back to the floor.

"Sorry," Lyndon says with an extremely long-suffering sigh from the opposite doorway. "Justine just called to say that there was some kind of typo in our ad that came out in today's PennySaver. Everyone is trying to sign up for the autumn classes at half cost."

He gives Quinn a pointed look as though she is the only one who can solve this problem (which isn't the case), but she takes the rescue for what it is. She's about to lose her head completely over Puck, and despite the desire to rush headlong into madness, she's already done that once this year. She looks at Puck apologetically and says, "I have to get to work."

He nods, looking somewhat forlorn. (Still heavy lidded and turned on, but a little lost too.) "Sure, yeah, of course. I understand."

Quinn reaches for his hand. "How about I call you when I'm free? We can grab a bite to eat--and, you know, talk. Figure this all out."

His fingers skim lightly over the palm of her hand and she has to control the shudder that works its way up her spine. "Sounds like a plan," he says. He smiles slowly then, wolfish and beautiful all at once. As she eases away from him and returns to the changing room, she remembers exactly how and why her 16-year-old self had broken all the important promises she'd made. He had always clouded her mind, said just what she needed to hear in the moment that would make her toss it into the wind. And if that failed, mind-drugging kisses usually followed. She also remembers how often she regretted those things. She buttons her pants over the slight bulge of her tummy and whispers, "Don't let me regret this," to God, or whoever might hear her and help her now.

*

By the time they meet for lunch--at Rigsby's Kitchen--in downtown Columbus, it's nearly 2pm. Puck can imagine the conversation that Quinn and her gay bodyguard must have had (and how long it must have gone on) since he'd caught them making out.

Puck really hadn't planned that, it just happened. He'd looked at her, and thought about their son, and he just couldn't not express himself. It's just that his way of getting his point across was a little less words and a lot more feeling her up than was probably socially acceptable.

Whatever. She totally wanted it, and he doesn't feel bad about it at all. He's only sorry that they got interrupted, though he's beginning to understand that he has to get his urges under control as far as Quinn is concerned, or they might end up arrested for indecent exposure.

As they're seated at their table, he looks around at the surroundings and gets that they're in a relatively pricey place. There's a hamburger on the menu though, so that's all that matters. Quinn can have her vegetarian whatever salad (yeah the girl who'd downed bacon cheeseburgers like crazy in high school had at some point turned in her meat-eating card), and he can have a burger, and they can eat and talk about this thing between them in a place where he can't, you know, start undressing her.

He's sure that's what lunch in a public place is all about.

Quinn smiles as their waitress walks away, and he takes a sip of his water. There are lots of things about her that are different, her diet just being one of them, but the biggest change is the happy expression on her face. She'd always been beautiful, and is only more so now really; the filled-out womanliness making her so soft and touchable looking that he had to continually tell himself to keep his hands to himself.

Not that that had really worked so far.

But public places being what they are, he has a feeling she feels safe here, in this hoity-toity restaurant. "So," he begins, flashing her a big smile. "Did your buddy give you a big don't-get-in-the-sack-with-that-loser speech?"

Quinn's cheeks fill with color, and he wants to pat himself on the back for being so on the mark. She stalls a moment by taking a drink from her own water glass, but then charms him by saying, "Again. Don't get in the sack with that loser _again_."

"Touché," he says, saluting her by touching two fingers to his forehead.

Quinn giggles and then struggles to show a serious face. "You're not a loser, Puck."

He knows that, but it still kinda makes him want to kiss her for saying it. Not that he didn't want to kiss her before. But, you know. She's Quinn Fabray, and she doesn't think he's a loser.

"Lyndon is just..." she seems to be unsure of what word she wants to use, but he lets her search for a bit. "Protective," is what she finally settles on.

"He's your gay husband." She arches her eyebrow at him, just the way Lyndon had in the doctor's office. "What? It's not a secret is it? He admitted to me that he's gay. And did you see how he was dressed? The scarf was a dead give away. Thought I was having a Kurt Hummel flashback."

Quinn is in mid-drink when he says that and she nearly sprays him with water. While she covers her mouth with a hand and sputters, Puck chuckles and reaches across the table to lift one of her arms over her head. "You okay, baby?"

She pulls away and glares at him a little, coughing until she clears her airway. When she can talk again, she says, "What's really funny is he critiqued your outfit as well."

Puck glances down at his standard issue undershirt, half-unbuttoned button-up flannel, and jeans. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" he asks, trying to look critically at his clothes.

Quinn laughs again and says, "Well, he seemed to think you were still living in the past--you know, your glory days of jockdom and dating the head Cheerio and all that. He thinks you dress a bit juvenilely."

"Baby, I'm a dude. And I'm straight. I wear whatever's closest to the closet and smells the cleanest."

"I'm not criticizing you," she admonishes. "I just think it's funny that that you mentioned his clothes and he mentioned yours. I actually think you'll end up being good friends."

"The fuck we will." When she looks at him with a hint of disappointment, he adds, his voice slightly quieter, "I mean, if he's telling you not to bang me, he's on my shit list."

Quinn hushes him and leans forward across the table. "Could you not--I don't know be so crass? I mean, there could be people in here whose children I teach ballet to."

"Sorry," he says, and he means it. Generally speaking, he does have a few more manners than he's currently displaying, but he's not gonna be all nicey-nice with Lyndon just to get on Quinn's good side. A cock-blocker is a cock-blocker, doesn't matter how he accomplishes it.

"And, for the record," she continues, "I'm not going to--" she mouths silently _sleep with you_ as she glances around a little, "if..."

He leans forward now, feeling both thwarted and excited.

"...and until we work out a few things."

"Like what?"

"Like what?" she repeats a little sharply. "Puck, we're not just, you know, magically together or whatever, just because we're having a baby."

"But you said you want to be with me!" he says. A lot of his excitement and happiness feels like it's draining away the longer they sit in this restaurant. When he'd gotten back to the hotel the night before, he'd relived their entire conversation and fixated on the parts he'd sort of missed in the moment. The biggest chunk of that had been her confession that she'd gone to New York to get pregnant, but also to see what he was up to because she wanted him.

"Oh, my god," she mutters, dropping her gaze from his face. "Have we gone back in time? Maybe you need a drink so you'll start dealing with reality."

He's instantly pissed, and if it weren't for the waitress returning just then with their food (fastest fucking service, ever, good god), he might have just told her to fuck off. Luckily for him, he's got a minute or two to get a grip on his temper as the waitress asks Quinn if she wants fresh parmesan and pepper on her salad.

He pulls the top bun off his hamburger and slathers some ketchup on the inside of it before replacing it, though suddenly he doesn't feel so hungry. "Look--" he starts when the server leaves.

"Puck, seriously--" Quinn begins at the same time, so they both stop and just look at one another.

"You first," he says.

"No, you--"

"Quinn. Please. Just say whatever it is. Because as usual, with you from one day to the next, I'm never going to know if I'm coming or going. Either you want to be with me, or you don't, and I just need to know upfront what the hell's going on here."

She picks up her fork but doesn't put any food on it. He sees sadness, the image that had always come to mind whenever he'd thought of her over the years, and the realization that he put that expression on her face does something very painful to his chest.

She looks down, examining the fork in her hand (he wouldn't be surprised if she was considering stabbing him with it), but then she says in a soft voice, "If this could work out between us--I think that would make me very happy. But having sex in New York one time, and you coming here and going to the ultrasound with me doesn't make us a family. It takes more than that. You do understand that, right?"

A lump forms in his throat, so he just nods. He gets it, he really does. He's 27 years old. He's not the stupid, idealistic kid who thought stealing a little money here or there, or books on pregnancy meant he was a better man than his own father who had left and never looked back. He understands now that being there is as much emotional effort as it is physical. Even if he hadn't gotten it before, that final conversation with Maria as he was packing up his shit brought it home even more. _You've been gone for months_ she'd said. _You came home every day, but you've been somewhere else this whole time. Where did you go, Puck?_

"Everything we do now, we have to do it thinking of him," Quinn continues, her hand resting on the top portion of her belly. "He's the whole point, Puck. I want you, yes, but he needs me, and that's going to be the way I run this thing. If it's good for him, if it makes sense for him, if it makes his life better. Okay?"

He nods again, and busies himself with taking a bite of his sandwich. Chewing slowly, he watches her as she digs into her meal, her eyes moving away from his to concentrate on what she's doing. "So," he says after he's swallowed. "What's the first thing we need to do?"

She glances up at him and says, "Well, we need to not have sex. Because we were always good at that part, and not so much at the other stuff. So we need to hold off on that."

He thinks _fuck_. He says, "Shit."

She stares at him with no expression.

"Fine," he spits. "I guess that won't be such a big fucking deal if I'm in New York and you're here anyway. It's not like you'll be able to move right away."

"What?" she asks, her passive expression changing so fast it nearly makes him laugh out loud. "I'm not moving to New York!" she states emphatically.

"I'm not moving to Columbus," he mutters, looking around the restaurant with ill-concealed disgust. "Who the fuck wants to live in Columbus?"

"I have a business here, you jerk! _I live here_. My life is here. I've lived here for almost eight years."

"So, I've lived in New York for almost eight years. Why do I have to move and you don't? I'm already giving up sex!"

"Oh, for god's sake!" She throws her napkin down on the table and scoots her chair back. "You won't have to give up sex forever, you ass! And I can't believe, that for one insane second, I actually thought I wanted this."

She surprises the hell out of him by standing up and walking out. She just leaves him sitting there with their hardly touched food and it takes him almost a full minute to realize she's really left, she's not doing it for dramatic effect. (See, high school Quinn would totally have done that. This woman? Well, he thinks she means serious business.)

He digs money out of his wallet and tosses it on the table as quickly as he can and then he chases her out to the parking lot. She's already got the car in reverse, and he plants himself behind it, smacking his hands down loudly on the trunk. If she runs him over, that will solve a few problems for both of them, and he grimly realizes he's not even halfway joking.

When she puts the car in park (he sees her do it through the back window), he slowly walks around to the driver's side door. Jerking it opening, he stands there looking down at her, but she refuses to acknowledge him. Then he reaches in and wraps his hand around her upper arm and effortlessly pulls her out. Even five months pregnant, she can't be more than a 130 pounds. He tugs her against him, moving them both slightly to the right so she's between him and the car.

She sighs, a little trembly sound and he realizes she's crying, so he chucks a fist under her chin to tip her face up to his. "Don't do this, Q. Don't run away just because I'm not the easiest guy in the world to deal with."

She swipes at a cheek with one hand. "You're _impossible_ ," she sniffles.

"And yet, here we are."

She shakes her head and breaks eye contact, and the only thing that fills his mind is a thought he's had a million times about her in all the years he's known her. _She's almost too pretty to be real_.

"If you just wanted some guy who'd roll over and play dead, don't you think you'd be married by now? Don't you think someone other than...Lyndon would be warning me off with _if you hurt her..._ threats? Would you really have come all the way to New York just to get my baby if there wasn't something bigger going on here?"

She still doesn't look at him, but he can see a smile fighting its way on to her lips.

"I haven't had anything to drink, and I'm trying to be less douchey, and more honest. Can you tell?" he asks, cupping her face in his hand to make her look at him again.

She finally allows him to tip her head up and she says, "You called him by his name. You wanted to call him something mean, but you just said his name."

He rolls his eyes. "Do we have to talk about your gay husband?"

Leaning forward, Quinn puts her head against his shoulder and snakes her arms around his waist. "No," she murmurs. "We don't have to talk about him." He hugs her in return, pulling her tightly into his arms. He likes this, just being close to her, and feeling the curve of her belly against him. But it's not enough. He wants to tip her head back and kiss her mouth and then slowly remove every piece of clothing she has on to see every bit of skin and every body part that's bigger and plumper because he knocked her up.

There is something incredibly arousing about knowing that he did it to her, that it's his fault she looks like that. He didn't feel that way in high school; then it had been embarrassing and awkward, and _doing the right thing_ had been a lot more about earnest speeches than it had been about honest actions.

He rubs his hand down her back, slowly, back and forth, up and down and she arches into him, a little whimper escaping her throat. He starts to get hard (so sue him) but then he realizes she's not turned on. It's like he hit a tender spot on her back. He remembers one of his fire buddy's wives always complaining about how her back hurt when she was pregnant, so he continues to rub at the lower portion. "You sore, baby?" he asks.

She makes a sound in her throat that he supposes is affirmative, but all it does is make his blood pressure go up and he knows she can feel what she's doing to him because she moves just right, and the friction makes him choke back a groan.

He pushes her back and and drops his mouth down to her ear. "You sure about this no sex thing?"

She wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him, her mouth open and soft and so inviting, he thinks he might just come in his jeans right there. But then she pulls away and whispers, "I'm trying to be smart about this."

"Fuck this shit," he growls, pushing her (gently) back into the driver's seat. "I need a minute," he says.

The smile on her face is reminiscent of a girl he once knew. She looks pleased with herself, but then she reaches out and squeezes his hand with hers. "I'm sorry. I won't purposely tease you."

He slants her an irritated glance as he moves to shut her car door. "You don't have to do much."

She laughs softly and says, "Why don't you follow me to my house? We still have things to talk about, and at least if we fight there, we won't have an audience."

He nods. "Okay. But, seriously, Fabray. You know I can wear you down."

"I'm not a teenager anymore, Puckerman. I have a bit more self-control than that."

She pulls the car door closed, and he walks gingerly to his truck that's parked a few slots over. With everything else that seems to be new about her, he is actually very disappointed to realize that he believes her, one hundred percent.

*

It's about a fifteen minute drive from the restaurant to her small home. She'd bought it just the year before as a tax write-off. Owning your own business could really screw you when it came to taxes, so her accountant had suggested she buy a house. The market in Ohio, as always, wasn't amazing, but she had a cute little three bedroom that would house a little boy quite easily.

She'd never imagined a big boy in it, though, and as Puck follows her, his truck looming in her rearview mirror, she hopes she has the ability to resist him.

Lyndon had cornered her in her office back at the studio and berated her for quite a while about her weakness when it came to Noah Puckerman. He hadn't said anything she didn't already know, but the best part had been after she had agreed with all his points when he'd given her a sympathetic look. "He really is beautiful though, isn't he? Those old pictures you showed me don't do him justice."

The fact that Lyndon's automatic distrust and dislike of Puck could be preempted for even a small moment by Puck's obvious appeal had made her laugh for about five minutes straight. Lyndon had told her to shut up and be serious, but she'd just kissed his cheek and said, "I know what I'm doing."

It's almost true.

Puck parks his truck next to her car on her driveway, and she has a flash of domesticity that sort of steals her breath. Is this really happening? Are they talking about being together? Having a life, raising a child, existing in each other's lives in a positive way?

More importantly, can they actually do it?

She's really not sure at all.

"This is nice," he says, observing her small yard as he walks around her car to look at the flowerbed that decorates the small strip of lawn at the front by the sidewalk. "You've got a nice little place here."

"Thank you," she says. He walks over to her and takes her hand in his and motions for her to lead them inside.

She gives him a quick tour of the house, glad that it's mostly clean. It's not hard to keep it up with just her living there, but she also had a cleaning service that came in once a month to do the stuff she didn't have time for. She doesn't tell him that, though. She can imagine the jokes about having a maid, and she doesn't want to hear it.

"Do you like being a fireman?" she asks, inviting him into the kitchen so she can fix herself something to eat. She's starving, and even though her storm out at the restaurant had been necessary, she is a pregnant woman who has to eat, or crazy things will happen. She doesn't need to expose Puck to some of her more illogical moments at present, and she tended to get very grumpy when she hadn't eaten.

He looks a little surprised by her question, but answers quickly. "Yeah, I love it. It's badass, you know, but in a way that helps people. It's a good fit for me."

"Have you ever...you know, ever, almost--" she finds it hard to say _been hurt_ or _almost died_ because her throat sort of seizes up at the idea.

"No." He helps her take some leaf lettuce and other vegetables out of the crisper so she can make a salad. "We have loads of safety measures and protocol to prevent injury. I got burned one time, a beam fell on me." He tugs his pant leg up to show her the backside of his lower right leg, and she has a vague recollection of seeing the scar the night they spent together in New York. She'd wondered about it then, but hadn't asked him. "But that was during a drill, not even on the job. And I'm real careful."

"You want some?" she asks and he nods, so she cuts up enough cucumber and tomato for both of them and then gestures for him to grab one of the avocados from the bowl on the kitchen table. "That's good to hear," she says. "When do you have to be back to work?" she asks.

"I need to head back tomorrow," he says. He leans against the counter and watches her while she cuts up the avocado quickly and cleanly. "You know it's a nine hour drive from NYC to here?"

She tosses the cut avo into the bowl with the other ingredients and glances at him. "I wasn't sure how long a drive it is, but I knew it had to be long. Why didn't you just fly?"

"I had a few days of comp time, and I just had a wild hare, you know. Jumped in the truck and drove. I wasn't sure, you know, how this would go, so I didn't plan to stay too long."

"A wild hare?" she questions. "When did you call my parents?"

"I called them Monday night, and then I got up yesterday morning, early, and just put my foot on the floor."

Since he had brought it up, she asks, "Why did you come here? Was it just to stake your claim as the father?"

She moves to the table, setting the bowl of salad on it. Then she turns and grabs a couple of plates from the cupboard for them as well as a pair of forks. He doesn't speak until they're sitting down. "I wanted the baby, yeah. I mean, come on. But I was pissed. I've been pissed this whole time, but I've also been trying to figure it out, and get my shit straight so that when I saw you, I'd know how to handle it. I didn't think you'd--well, you surprised me by saying that you wanted to be with me. That's not what I expected from a chick who said when she broke up with me that she wouldn't wish me on her worst enemy."

Quinn takes a bite of her salad and watches him while he pokes at it, carefully scooping portions onto his plate without any avocado. She avoids the shameful feeling at the reminder of the horrible things she'd said to him by asking, "Why didn't you just tell me you don't like avocado?" she asks.

He looks up with a guilty flush. "I do like it, just mashed up on tortilla chips. I'm not big on it in my salad."

"Tell the truth, do you ever eat salad?"

He smirks at her. "Yes, I eat vegetables. Not as many as you, probably, but I eat pretty healthy. I've got to, to stay in good shape. It's not just about exercise, the food's important too."

Quinn chews thoughtfully, watching him with undisguised interest. He starts to get uncomfortable, and she watches him revert back to Player!Puck right in front of her eyes. "Like what you see, right?" he asks, waggling his eyebrows.

She gives it right back. "I've never had a problem looking at you; that was always the easy part."

He glowers a bit and goes back to scooping up salad (but still avoiding the avo). He says nothing as he starts eating.

"So, you want to spend the day with me?" she asks. "You're leaving in the morning, I presume?"

"I want to spend the day, and the night with you," he answers.

"Puck..."

"We don't have to have sex. Unless you want to. I mean, I'm totally open. Whatever."

He smirks again, and Quinn is torn between punching his arm and kissing his face. She figures she never quit loving him, and even though he infuriates her on many levels, he was right when he said what he did in the restaurant parking lot.

If she'd wanted someone that rolled over and played dead, she would have settled a long time ago.

What she wants is a second chance to right a lot of wrongs. Her purposeful pregnancy is just the tip of the proverbial iceberg.

"You'd settle for cuddling all night, if that's what I want?" she asks.

"As long as you'll let me have a steak or something, because seriously, woman, this salad ain't gonna cut it."

She laughs, and then she punches his arm. When he mock pouts, his lips curving downward in a silly way that causes her laughter to escalate, she leans over the table. They realize at the same moment that his child's presence won't allow her to get close enough, so he narrows the distance himself and their lips meet in a soft, sweet kiss.

"You can have steak," she murmurs. She kisses him again just because she wants to.

*

Puck wakes up because she climbs out the bed. He misses her instantly, but something nudges his subconscious that she's just going to the bathroom and she'll be back. He rolls over on to his back and reaches for his cell phone on the bedside table. Looking at the clock he sees that it's not even 7am yet. He figures he might be able to squeeze in a few more hours of sleep before he hits the road, and he needs it. They'd stayed up fairly late talking about all kinds of things after they'd gone grocery shopping and he got some Tri-tip to broil in her oven. She had not been lured by the delicious smell, and he'd become convinced that he could try to seduce her, but nothing would work. The woman had principles now about some weird shit, and none of his sweet talk (or sweet cooking) could entice her.

He keeps his eyes shut so she'll think he's still asleep when she pads back into the room. They'd slept fully clothed ("As a precaution," Quinn had suggested), and he was a little uncomfortable because jeans were not meant to be on your body for 24 straight hours. It's not like he owned pajamas, though (again, he's a _straight dude_ ), so it was either sleep naked or sleep in the clothes he had on, and Quinn's vote won. (He's on top of the covers too, because it's too hot to sleep in all his clothes, and under blankets.)

Now, she climbs back in beside him and sidles up to him, her arm going across his stomach. He quivers a little beneath her, only because his shirt has ridden up a bit and his navel got a dusting of her fingers and palm. Her nose presses under the edge of his jaw and her breath caresses his neck and that's all it takes for his morning wood to spring up enthusiastically.

The truth is he hasn't sex in several months, hadn't really even been interested (in Maria, or anyone else). So not only does he want Quinn, just for the sake of her being hotter than hell, and you know, carrying his kid and all. He _wants_ Quinn because he needs to get off, and his emotions are involved, which just makes it worse, and he's extremely frustrated with everything.

But he's also remarkably happy, and thinks that even though they've had their moments the last two days, he hasn't felt this way--deeply satisfied in his bones--in like, well, ever.

He takes a deep breath, and then lets it go slowly as though breathing is as good as an orgasm. If he can just do it right, he can get through it.

Then her lips move down his neck and her hand skates back across his stomach, and he swears her _fingers_ dip beneath the waistband of his now way-too-tight jeans. He groans, and her name leaves his throat on a jagged breath. "You promised no teasing," he reminds her.

"I'm not teasing," she says against his ear, and then he swells to larger proportions as her fingers tug down his zipper.

"The fuck?" he croaks out. His hand automatically circles her wrist to keep her from sticking her hand inside his pants. (But, oh, god, does he want her to stick her hand in his pants.) "Quinn, don't," he says, and it sounds so much like begging that he turns his head towards hers and tries to capture her mouth with his.

Her lips press against his cheek, and she nudges his head back with her own, preventing their mouths from meeting. "Just let me make you feel good," she whispers, and he totally loses all ability to speak as her fingers slip inside the front of his boxer briefs.

Her hand is warm, though not nearly as warm as his body is. He feels like heat must be lifting off him in waves and when the palm of her hand slips under the head of his cock, his hips jerk, lifting right off the bed. She pulls him out of his underwear, gently maneuvering him out into the open. He can't help but look down and see her fingers wrapped around his shaft, and he nearly blows from the visual alone.

It absolutely embarrasses him how little it takes (so he squeezes his eyes shut), and how quickly he's arching into her palm, and how few strokes she actually gives him. When he comes, he shouts her name too loudly, and his arm clamps her body against his side.

Panting heavily, he waits a few moments before he reaches to feel the damage his jizz must have done to his pants (the only ones he brought with him--his other clothes are back at the motel) but he feels movement other than his own down there. He cracks an eye open to see a small hand towel draped strategically over his thighs. He hadn't noticed it before when all he could see was her sweet little fingers wrapped around his cock. She quickly folds it up now and tosses it aside and then cuddles up to him again.

"You did that on purpose," he finally says when he can make words again.

She laughs, an airy little echo in his ear. "I sure hope so."

When he starts to ask why, she presses a finger to his lips, and he can smell himself on her hand. "Just be grateful," she admonishes. "I wanted to give you something I knew you'd like. Go back to sleep," she whispers.

She kisses his jaw again, and settles against him. He wants to roll over on her and give her back some of that, but he's also extremely sleepy, so he just goes with it.

He's pretty sure if he ever stopped loving Quinn Fabray, he can't remember how or when it happened.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there's totally a deleted scene for this fic that I am not going to write, because this has already gone on about 12k words longer than I thought it would. Just know in the deleted scene, Puck finds this old mixed CD that he made for Quinn back in high school and it had obnoxious songs on it like Ke$ha's "Your Love is My Drug" and the Black Eyed Peas' "I Gotta Feeling" that high school!Puck (and most likely grown up!Puck) would have loved and thought were apt descriptions of their relationship, but it would also have have Ray LaMontagne's "Trouble" and P!nk's "Crystal Ball" and a few other songs that would show that he did know Quinn (and I've always imagined Quinn likes P!nk because P!nk is also a furious chick). I guess what it comes down to is I need to make a Fan Mix to go along with this fic, huh? Anyway....

On Thursdays, Quinn teaches two ballet classes; one at 11am and another at 1pm, so it's her late day. She usually doesn't arrive at the studio until right before her first class starts. Afterwards, she'll handle any paperwork that's floated her way and return phone calls.

But today, she's just sitting in her office staring into space, and she jumps when Lyndon's knock brings her back to her surroundings.

She can't help it if all she can think about is a man who is probably driving somewhere in Pennsylvania right now.

When Pennsylvania pops in her head, she thinks of Alicia, and wonders if the route he's chosen might take him near their daughter. Then she realizes that she thought of her as _Alicia_ and she stops, her eyes locking with Lyndon's as he lets himself into her office and takes a seat in the chair up against the far wall. "Confession time," he says, crossing his arms over his chest. "You totally slept with him, didn't you?"

Quinn can't stop the tears that sting her eyes, and she says, "Lyndon, I think I'm getting over it."

He looks concerned, and a bit confused. "Getting over what? That gorgeous cretin? That would be fabulous."

She shakes her head. "No, I'm getting over my baby girl."

He doesn't say anything, he just watches her and Quinn's eyes overflow with tears. "Oh, my god, Lyndon." She covers her face with her hands and rests her elbows on her desk. "I never thought this could happen," she says, sobs choking the words so much she's sure she's the only one who can understand them. "I never thought I would think about her and not be brokenhearted. But...but," and then his arms are around her and she's crying into his scarf (not the one he'd worn to the ultrasound, but another, because he has a million of them).

"Shhhh, shhhh, Momma," he whispers into her ear. "It's okay, it's okay. Quinn," he rubs her shoulders and pats her back, holding her close to him.

It's only when she starts laughing that he lets go of her and when they're looking into each other's eyes, she knows he thinks she gone around the bend. She reaches up and puts her tears-wet hands on his face and pulls his mouth to hers. She kisses him soundly and continues to laugh as she says, "It only took ten and a half years, but I finally thought of her by her name--by the name her parents gave her."

Lyndon stands up straight, but keeps one hand on her shoulder. She reaches her own hand up to squeeze his and says, "I did sleep with him, but I didn't have sex with him," to remind him of the original question.

An expression of relief crosses his face and he goes back to his seat by the wall. Once he's away from her, she asks with a giggle, "Well, does a handjob count as sex? Because I totally gave him one. But I didn't let him do anything but kiss me." She laughs really hard when she realizes her best friend is speechless. Because that? It's never happened in the 6+ years that she's known him. The baby flutters keep getting stronger, and as she's nearly hysterical, they come again, as if her little boy is swimming around in the joy she feels coursing through her body.

Lyndon, ever ready to assist in a psychoanalysis, quickly asks, "What did you hope to achieve with giving him a favor, but not accepting one in return?"

Quinn pauses, rubbing her hand over her stomach. The truth smacks her broadside, and the sensation is so wonderful as it comes out of her mouth. "I wanted him to know I love him. But I wasn't ready to say it yet. So I showed him."

"You love him?" Lyndon asks in disbelief. He scoffs, but then looks rather resigned, as though he knew it was coming.

"I've loved him since I was 16 years old, and we gave away our baby. It's always been there, this shadow over everything in my life. I thought it was mostly her--Alicia--but it was both of them, equally. And we did the right thing, giving her away. It was what was best for her. I have always known that logically, in my brain." She presses her fingers to her forehead, pondering on that for a long moment. "But I never felt it in my heart. Not until now. Not until I could see that I've changed, and he's changed."

"How is it a change, if you've caused history to repeat itself, and you're sitting in your office crying?" Lyndon asks.

She just smiles at him. "Because I want it, and he wants it, and we're choosing it."

He's quiet. Quinn watches him for some sign, because really, what he thinks matters to her. Besides her parents, whom she sees a few times a year, he's the only person in her life that has consistently been there. And he's definitely the only person who has ever loved her unconditionally.

She knows the course she's on, and where it's leading, but she still wants-- _needs_ \--his support if it's going to be successful in the way she wants it to be.

Girlfriends have come and gone, but her gay husband has never let her down. Her grin gets bigger as she thinks of Puck's jealousy over that. There is room for both of them in her life. She just has to make them each see that.

"Quinn, I want you to be happy, you know that, right?"

"Of course."

"Just like when I met Gregory, and we started dating, you wanted some assurances that he was treating me right. Remember?"

"Yes, Lyndon. Did you just hear what I said? He didn't _try_ anything. I know you don't _know_ him, but trust me, that's growth. Just the fact that he tried to stop me when I started something is epic. And when he was leaving this morning--there was this moment. He was holding me, and kissing me goodbye, and... _God_ , it hurt so good. I mean, the ache of him leaving--we were both feeling it, and I just...I could see it in his eyes. It's everything it was when we were young, plus everything it wasn't. All the things we were incapable of then, now we have it. Now, we can do it."

He chews on his bottom lip thoughtfully. "You've discussed the cheating?" he asks.

Quinn should have known that was coming, but she actually had a plan when it came to that topic, so she doesn't let it deflate her spirits. "Not yet. But we will discuss it."

"It's difficult for a leopard to change its spots, you know," he says, giving her his superior look.

"Don't start cliché-ing me to death. Puck is a man, he's not an animal." She glances away, and makes a confession that's hard to utter. "A lot of the blame for that lies with me."

"Oh, God, Quinn! No, you cannot be the woman who sits around bemoaning that she deserves a man who can't keep it in his pants. Who are you, and what have you done with my best friend?"

"Lyndon," she presses her hand against the air between them, as though she can contain his annoyance. "I'm not saying he wasn't responsible, he was. He is. But even you have pointed out to me, in the past, how my behavior in New York was--well. My point is, he didn't do it all by himself. And we will talk about it, but really, it's between him and me." She tilts her head in apology. "Look, if this is going to work, he's got to know that there aren't three people in this relationship. What you already know, I can't take back. But from here on out--well, some of this just has to be sacred."

"Like handjobs?" he asks with a smirk.

Quinn smiles again, feeling positively giddy. Head cheerleader and Celibacy Club President be damned, loving a man and being loved in return is a much better power trip. "Okay, maybe I shouldn't tell you that stuff either, but it made me proud. You know, that I could make him feel that way."

"You have been celibate for too long."

Quinn sticks her tongue out at him. "I never wanted anyone but him." And that's the truth. It's been the truth on her plate for ten long years, eight of which she'd spent without him. But that's over now, and she rejoices. Grabbing her purse from the table behind her desk, she pulls out her cell phone to send him a text. _Miss you already_ she types in quickly.

Lyndon stands up, and Quinn looks anxiously at his face. She can see it will take a little more time, but his expression is already softer than it was when he came in. "As long as he treats you well, he and I will get along fine. But the minute he steps out of line, I don't care if he can break my perfectly shaped nose with one well-placed punch, I will have to confront him."

Quinn laughs, and says, "I hope it won't come to that."

Lyndon touches his nose carefully. "You and me both."

*

Puck stops to get gas halfway through Pennsylvania. He's been on the road about five hours, and he already knows he's going to move to Columbus. It's the only thing that makes sense, really. He can be a fireman anywhere (he got his Fire Science degree just for that purpose), and he doesn't own anything in New York. The apartment he's been waiting to get into won't open up until the beginning of December, and his buddy Phil, who's been letting him crash on his couch, will be thrilled if he's out of there before that.

Of course, it's not like Quinn's gonna ask him to move in with her, but it's probably easier to find a place to rent in Columbus than it is in New York City.

He grabs a deli sandwich and a soda after he pays for the fill-up and when he gets back in his truck, he pulls his phone out of the glovebox. He just wants to send her a little thought, some cheesy romantic _thinking about you, baby_ kind of thing. He doesn't care, there's no one around to see him act like a pussy, so it's all good. He sees that he's missed a couple of calls and a text message. The calls are from Phil, and his mother, respectively, who'd had no idea he was in Columbus. She would not be pleased to know that he'd been less than two hours from home and he hadn't come to see her. She also wouldn't be thrilled to know he had impregnated a Gentile (again), but at least Quinn doesn't eat pork anymore, so that's a plus.

When he sees a text from her, he actually has a melting sensation in his chest. If the message didn't make him a little randy, he might need to check and see if his junk was still attached. Because, seriously? What is she doing to him? He tried to turn down sex from her (as one-sided as it was, it was still more action than he's had in too fucking long), and now he's practically crying because she misses him.

But fuck, he misses her too, like crazy. He just wants it all worked out, like yesterday, so that he's with her all the time. He doesn't want the next time they plan to see each other to be a whole month away--for her six month check-up, but that's the best they could come up with for now.

If he hadn't been able to tell how it killed them both equally to say goodbye this morning, he'd probably be planning a great big get-drunk-and-be-pitiful party when he got back to Phil's (though Phil would probably throw him out for pulling shit like that). Knowing she's just as messed up as him is a very soothing consolation, and as he punches in a little response to her text, he has to physically make his fingers choose letters that don't involve _I love you_. It's way harder than you'd think, and as he hits send at the end of _baby, I miss you too_ , he knows it's all over for him. He has reached the end of the line.

Ironically, he wishes he could tell Maria, because meeting her helped him get to the place where he could be ready for this, but he's fairly certain she wouldn't appreciate that knowledge. He has the answer now to her question, _Where did you go, Puck?_

He'd left his heart in Ohio, about eight years ago. Now that he's got it back, he knows exactly where he is, and what he's doing. It's terrifying, and liberating all at the same time.

As he crosses the state line back into New York, and the sign says _Come visit Pennsylvania again_ , he thinks about Alicia. He wonders if in eight more years, she might want to meet her biological parents. Then he considers how it might make that little girl feel to know her parents somehow ended up together, even though they didn't keep her. He can't say for sure, obviously, but he hopes it would make her happy.

*

Over the course of the next few weeks, they talk on the phone every day. They fight, they make up, they laugh (and one time, they even have phone sex, only because Phil happens to not be home for once), and Puck finds that a real relationship consists of all those things. Even when they disagree about something, he discovers he's not worried she's going to end things between them, because they have crossed some invisible barrier where that's not an option anymore.

They work it out, or they put it on the shelf until they've had time to think about it. They never hang up on each other, and they never, absolutely never, end the conversation while either of them is angry. Frustrated, sure, missing each other badly, every fucking time, but they don't exchange insults they way they would have when they were teenagers.

She tells him about Alicia, and how she feels about it now, and he tells her that he thinks it will be stellar when she comes to meet them some day and they have a little brother for her. (They both cry as they talk about that, but Puck won't confirm or deny it when Quinn insists that he's crying too.)

They talk about the reasons that they broke up originally. It starts relatively simple; she reminds him that he wouldn't even apply at Ohio State (where she had been accepted) and he tells her he just couldn't go with her, not when they fought so much, and he felt like she hated him most of the time.

It had been a natural progression. They'd had to break up or they would have just stayed in the same awful rut they'd been in since they'd given their daughter up. They both acknowledge it and there's this moment of silence, like all that they had gone through then is finally being put to rest.

Then Quinn breaches the last tender spot, her voice quavering as she says, "I was mad at you for a long time, and I blamed you. I would think things like, _if he'd have been faithful I would have given up OSU and gone with him to New York_. But who knows if that's even true. I don't know what I would have done. All I did know was I couldn't stay with you, not when you..." She doesn't finish the thought, and he doesn't need her to.

"I know," he responds. He has no defense, and he doesn't want one. He'd spent a lot of time banging girls who didn't matter to him at all to make himself feel better (both during and after Quinn), but it had never lasted much beyond the orgasm. They had been fleeting moments of pleasure with no lasting happiness, and now he knows it's unacceptable behavior. He can't explain just why he's certain he wouldn't do it again, not to Quinn. It has to do with the fact that it all means something different to him now, and obviously it does to her too. When they have sex again, he thinks it will be symbolic of what happens every day between them as they talk on the phone. They will be together in a way that invites no one else. And as much as Puck just _wants_ her, and needs to find release inside her body, he needs what it means too. That he belongs to her, and she belongs to him, and that they only want each other.

"You wanna hear something funny?" she asks, her tone indicating that she doesn't mean _funny ha ha_.

"What?" he asks, holding the phone more tightly to his ear.

"A few years after high school, I was watching TV one day, just flipping through the channels, and I came to an old rerun of _That 70s Show_. I stopped because I remembered how you loved that show. I was just sitting there thinking of you, feeling that combination of bitter and sweet, loving you and hating you at the same time, and then I got into the episode. I wanted to know what was gonna happen.

"It was the one where Jackie and Kelso were breaking up, and they're confronting each other with the reasons why their relationship never worked. There's this one part where Kelso tells her that he cheated on her all the time because she always made him feel bad about himself."

She pauses, but not long enough to give him a chance to say anything. "It's kinda creepy when you see yourself, so plainly, and it's really not flattering, at all."

Puck's grip on the phone gets harder, and one of the buttons depresses under his cheek, making a beeping sound into the receiver.

He doesn't know what to say, but he knows she's right. He'd never thought about what was making him unhappy, but there is no denying the toxicity that had existed between them then, and the reality that he had spent a lot of time drinking and making it with other chicks. It was a pattern that had tapered off the older he got, and the longer he lived in New York. He'd had the distinct thought of wanting to be a grown-up when he'd met Maria.

"After that," Quinn continues, "I was mad at myself for a long time. It's really hard to change, Puck. Even when you know you should, that you need to. And even after I had changed, I still had a hard time apologizing to you. Every time I called you on her birthday, I would promise myself that I'd say I was sorry, but I never did. Lyndon pointed this out to me recently--after I got pregnant. We were talking about it, rehashing it all over again, and he made me see that even when I went to New York, I was basically forcing you into the same situation, only I'd made myself the other woman."

"Quinn..." He doesn't like it, the idea that somehow she's the only one playing in this game.

"God!" she says on a burst of sound. "The psychology of it all--it's like someone should write a book about me and how messed up I am."

"How fucked we both are," he mutters, but he sits up, as though laying on the sofa in Phil's apartment is not the appropriate position for this conversation. "I don't know about stuff like that, baby. I mean, yeah, there's some obvious fucked up shit between us. So maybe we should all be in therapy. My buddy, Phil, he's in the Program, you know, for alcohol? AA? Anyway, one of the things he told me that he learned when he was in recovery was taking responsibility for what you've done. Owning it, even the bad stuff. I always thought I did that, you know. Or at least I tried, and I still think I do. I'm an asshole sometimes, yeah. I do shitty things. I've cheated on girls. But here's where we've gotta meet in the middle somewhere. You made an offer, and I took you up on it. Period. And yeah, you've got power over me, always and forever, Quinn, but that's just because...you're like the only girl I've ever really loved. And I guess I did a lot of crazy shit to you back in the day because I never really knew how to just love you and make it good. I was never going to be enough, and I knew it, so that's why I didn't go with you to Columbus."

He takes a breath, feeling a little light-headed, whether it was just from the weight of unloading, or whatever, he doesn't know. He can tell Quinn's crying again, the little sniffles coming through the phone loud and clear. "We had to be apart to figure it out, I think," she says.

"Maybe," he says, still not sure if she's taking way more blame than she should. "I'm sorry, Q. I'm sorry for all of it, for hurting you, and being stupid, and not knowing how to--just be okay."

"I'm sorry, too, Puck. I'm so sorry. I don't ever want to hurt you like that ever again."

"Me, either," he says and then they're sort of talking over one another and laughing and he'd give his left nut if they were actually in the same state right now. He just wants her, so bad, and he feels like only kissing her all over could really show what he means.

"Never again--"

"No, I promise--"

"You're the only boy I've ever loved--"

"You've owned my ass since eighth grade math--"

Both at the same time: "Really?"

Quinn's laughter in his ear seems to have the same effect currently as thoughts of her naked body and Puck blurts out, "I'm moving there."

The giggles die abruptly, and then she whispers, "Are you sure?"

"Yes. I'm positive. I can't stand this. I want to be with you, so bad."

"I want you, so bad, too," she says, her voice stronger. "When, when are you coming?"

Their plan had been for him to come back to Columbus in a week and a half anyway, so really he should just make the one trip. His commander might be pissed when he doesn't give two full weeks notice, but he doesn't give a shit. "As soon as I can--I'll give notice, and I'll find a place to stay there, and when I come for the baby check up, I'll just stay." He realizes his hand that's not holding the phone to his ear is fisted in the spare blanket laying on the back of the couch. "Is that too soon?"

"No, it's not soon enough!" Quinn says, laughing again. "Puck, you don't have to--I mean, you can stay here--you should. Arrrgghh! What I'm trying to say is, you should live with me."

"My mom's gonna fucking kill me, you know. I only called her two weeks ago to tell her she's gonna be a grandma, and now I'm moving back to Ohio, and shacking up with you, so she'll be happy and pissed at the same time."

"She can start a support group with my parents!" Quinn says, and the sheer hilarity of it all hits them both so that they're gasping for air in one another's ears.

As they both calm down, Puck flops back on the couch. This is all too fast, and not enough, and so much at the same time. His head spins, and the emotion rocketing through him feels surreal.

It's all a fucking dream he never let himself imagine.

"Baby?" he says.

"What?"

"This is real, you know. It's totally happening."

She makes a happy sound in her throat. "I know, believe me. I know. And I'm so glad."

*

Eight days later, Quinn is just putting her dinner dishes into the dishwasher and wiping down the counter. Her house is in a state of disarray because she's been getting rid of things she doesn't need and going through old boxes of stuff that need to be tossed out.

She's making room for a roommate. Or _the baby daddy_ as he insists fairly often on being called. He says he doesn't have that much _shit_ but she assumes he is low balling her. It's a man thing, she's sure of it.

He'll be arriving the next day, though, and she's nearly bursting out of her skin at the thought. He was coming a day earlier than they originally planned, but it was still too long. Every day that she isn't with him feels like the longest one of her life.

She settles on her sofa, for the last time as a single woman, puts her feet up on the coffee table and rests her hands on her ever expanding belly. She can feel the flutters more and more often, though today he's been fairly silent. She can't wait until he's big enough to make movement Puck will be able to feel.

(There are still those moments when she feels guilty for the way she'd handled things when she was young.)

At some point she startles awake, not even aware she'd fallen to sleep, or what had woken her. She looks around the living room, and then sits up slowly. She sees something just past the blinds on her window and then there's a knock at the door. Getting to her feet, she walks to the door, wondering if Lyndon's just stopping by to try to talk some sense into her again.

She can't be talked out of it. She wants it too badly. That's why she rubs her eyes after she opens the door, because she can't quite believe that Puck is on her doorstep. "What...?"

He steps over the threshold and his arms surround her middle and she's being kissed like she hasn't been kissed in 29 long days. Her mouth opens, her head drops back, and her arms swirl around his neck, holding him close. Maybe it's a dream, but that's fine because it's the best dream ever and she doesn't want to wake up anyway.

When he pulls back and she has to gasp for oxygen she accepts that he's real, and here, even earlier than she expected. "Hi," he says, a little smile teasing the corners of his beautiful mouth.

"You're early," she whispers.

"Don't get used to it," he says, the words lost against her lips as he kisses her again. Then he lifts his head again and scoots them inside the door so that he can shut it behind him. "I couldn't wait any longer. I couldn't take one more fuckin' day withou--"

She laughs in her throat because he cuts himself off to kiss her again, only this kiss is so much more, deeper and languid, and he starts walking her backward.

She knows where they're going, and she doesn't have a problem with it, except--"Wait," she gasps, throwing an arm out so her fingers can find purchase on the wall of the hallway.

"Nope, can't do it," he breathes, his lips fastening on to her neck.

Quinn can feel it all happening so quickly, her thighs already feel like they're on fire, but she still manages to say, "Look out for the boxes," just in time for him to scoop her up and step over two boxes on the floor of her bedroom.

He deposits her gently by the bed and then stands in front of her. His eyes are dark with arousal, looking more brown than hazel, and Quinn can't help but ask, "What did you think about the whole way here?"

His hands cup her breasts over her shirt, but his thumbs find her nipples quickly through the material of her blouse and bra. "I tried not to think about it because I didn't want to be hard for nine fucking hours." His lips pass over her mouth again and drift down her chin. He strums her nipples and she pushes herself more fully into his hands. "But I've been thinking about this since the night we made him," he says, dropping a hand down to cover her belly. "You're bigger," he says, awe in his voice.

"Every day," she agrees.

"So fuckin' beautiful," he murmurs, tugging her shirt up.

Quinn lifts her hands to the buttons and quickly undoes the shirt. He helps her when he realizes what she's doing and then she's standing in front of him in just her skirt and her bra.

"This okay?" he asks, and she can see the effort it is for him to drag his gaze to her face. His fascination with her body makes her feel beautiful, makes her love him even more if possible, and she wants to cry from the sweetness of it.

She nods, but she can see he needs words. Using her right hand, she cups his jaw and brings his mouth back to hers. "I want you, Puck. I want you."

"How do we do it?" he asks, and then they both start laughing. Quinn doesn't know what's funnier, just them in general, or the idea that Puck is in a sexual situation he doesn't know how to navigate.

"Me, on top," she says, running her lips over his earlobe.

"Oh, fuck, yeah," he breathes and he pushes her skirt and panties down in one smooth motion. With his hands covering her buttcheeks, he pulls her as tight against him as her belly will allow and their foreheads meet gently. "I'm crazy in love with you, Quinn Fabray."

"I know," she says, and they kiss again. She pulls back so she can get her hands under his shirt. She knows he's been dying to see her body since he's told her fairly often during their phone conversations, but he has no idea how much she's been looking forward to seeing his body again.

Because, _good lord_.

She runs her fingers over his abs, and his stomach quivers. He's hard and warm, and so gorgeous, if she weren't so breathless and caught up in his godlike physique, she might feel inferior. She draws a single digit through the downy line of hair above and beneath his belly button and she literally sees the zipper of his jeans strain a bit more. His hand grabs her wrist and keeps her from touching the snap just below that. "Un-uh," he says softly. "I need some barriers between me and you, otherwise-- _BAM_ Fourth of July comes early."

She laces their fingers and slides her tongue over his bottom lip. "Baby, it's November 3rd."

He moans, and the arm around her waist draws her back tighter to him. "Quinn, if you make me come in my jeans again, I will never forgive you."

She smiles and turns to shove him down on the bed. "You're a filthy liar, you know that, right?"

He lays crosswise, smirking at her as he reaches for one of her pillows to tuck under his head. "All right then, this is your show." He just watches her, his gaze hungry and feral, and Quinn can feel the dampness between her thighs. She removes her bra, and his eyes dilate even more. She unbuttons his jeans and unzips him, gently sliding her hands inside them on either side of his hips. He's kicking off his shoes and lifting his backside off the bed as she's pulling the jeans off and she purposely brushes her mouth over the head of his cock since it's right in front of her. The sound he makes causes a smile to stretch her lips wide and after she drops his jeans on the floor, she runs her hands up his thighs as she climbs on the bed next to him.

"Quinn, seriously..." he pants, his eyes looking as desperate as his voice sounds.

Leaning over him, she presses her lips to his and his hands grip her neck, pulling her down to him. "Shhhh," she whispers. Lifting her leg, she straddles his upper legs, but makes sure she doesn't touch his cock. He pulses with life, and the temptation to wrap her hand around him and reduce him to nothing in two seconds flat is almost too much to resist.

His eyes flutter shut and his hands drop away from her neck. She captures them to bring them against her breasts, and the texture of his callused palms against her sensitive nipples makes her critically aware that she's as close as he is. It's just that should the party end too quickly for her, it won't be so obvious.

His thumbs move expertly over her and she sighs out a moan that only seems to infuriate him. "I'm not shitting you, Quinn, it's now or never, because my mother fucking heart is about to explode."

She nods and suppresses a smile, though part of her wants to remind him that he said this was her show. The reality is that it's always been his show, at least when it came to this, and it's enough for her that he needs her so much. She slides forward and reaches for him, but he groans out, "No, no," and his hands land on her inner thighs, spreading her so that he needs no guidance.

As she moves down on him, the pressure feels immense and she tosses her head back on a gasping breath as she remembers what the pregnancy book said about the blood flow in her vagina possibly making this the best sex she'd ever have. He's a big man, and his penis is proportionate to the rest of him, but she's never felt him so deeply, so fully as she does right now. A trembly little "yes" falls out of her mouth and she barely moves at all before the electricity shoots through her.

He swears colorfully, his hands clamp on her hips and he thrusts three times, and then it's over for both of them. They've engaged in so much foreplay for the last month it's really no wonder that _BAM_ as he said. She turns boneless, sliding off of him to lie next to him on the bed and she mutters breathlessly, "Happy Fourth of July."

He gives a half-hearted laugh and the arm around her pulls her tight against his side while his other hand caresses a breast, her belly, and the apex of her thighs in one sweeping gesture.

"I might be dead," he murmurs. "And I'm fine with that."

Quinn presses her lips to his chest and closes her eyes. She tries to say, "Me, too," but nothing comes out. They fall asleep simultaneously.

*

He wakes her with soft kisses on her belly, and he makes love to her again slowly, and only gets crazy urgent at the very end. He hopes this is him calming down, because he doesn't think he can endure much of what they went through the first time.

They lay together in the sweaty aftermath, talking softly and kissing. He keeps touching her breasts, and her belly just because he can, but also because he's realizing he's kind of kinky about pregnant women. (Or at least women he's impregnated.) He can't get enough of her, but he figures that's okay since he doesn't have to. He gets to have her all the time, and it really has nothing to do with the sex (though the sex is, like, the best he's ever had). He just never has to stop touching her, he's not on a timeline, and she wants him to.

It's fucking amazing, and he can't quit grinning.

Her hand keeps moving over his pecs, playing the smattering of hair that's there, and he's got his eyes closed, just content to be holding her. Her bed is comfortable, and even long enough for him if he lays sort of diagonally. His eyes pop open when he remembers something he wanted to ask her.

Glancing down, he sees that she's just looking at him, and he gets embarrassed because he didn't realize she was doing that. "Hey," he says, and she smiles and kisses him and he has that melty sensation in his chest again. "I wondered something."

"What's that?" she asks.

"Did you have plans for what you were gonna name this kid? I mean, it's kinda crazy that we haven't talked about that yet."

"Oh, yeah. I always knew what I would name him, if he were a boy."

"Really?" He scoots over just a bit so he can turn on his side. He adjusts the pillow so that they can both lay comfortably facing each other. "What?"

"Noah, of course."

"What? No!" he cries in genuine shock. "No, Quinn. I mean, I don't even like my name--I don't even go by that name--why would you--"

"Because it's a good name! Just because you're not a Noah doesn't mean it's not a good name. Besides, you want me to call him Ephraim?"

He makes a face at her. "He doesn't need any of my names, first, middle, or last for that matter."

"I'm naming him Noah, Puck. And of course he's going to have your last name. He's your son."

He goes quiet for a moment because he can hear that tone in her voice. There are a few things that Quinn is dead set on, and he can tell this is one of them. It seems strange, since she'd never called him Noah, or attempted to make him go by his given name (unlike his mother and various other people throughout his life), but he'd never known that she liked the name. It makes him look at it with a new appreciation. "Noah what?" he asks.

She looks at him silently for a moment. "Noah James." She pauses again. "James is Lyndon's middle name."

"Oh."

She arches an eyebrow at him and repeats, "Oh? Oh is all you have to say?"

He kisses her mouth chastely. "I suppose it will win me points with him if we name our kid for him, right?"

She smiles. "You're concerned about 'winning points'?"

"I don't want the guy to hate me, obviously. And that would suck for you, you know. So, I can be nice. I can be...whatever. Friendly."

This time she kisses him, and it's not so chaste as her tongue strokes over his. When she pulls back, Puck is starting to think about round three, and all the things he wants to try with her in her current condition, but he forces himself to focus on the conversation he started. "So, Noah James Fabray-Puckerman?"

One of her hands rests on his shoulder now and her fingers dance over his skin. "Could just be Noah James Puckerman. I mean, hyphens get confusing, and the poor kid doesn't really need two last names, does he?"

Puck shrugs. "Whatever you want."

"I think Puckerman's all the last name he needs."

"What about you?" he asks.

"What about me?"

"Puckerman might be a good last name for you, too. You know. If you wanted it to be."

The severity of her smile makes her words less effective. "Is this a proposal?"

He knows she knows what he's saying. So he just presses his mouth to hers and turns her on to her back. Carefully, he makes sure none of his weight is on her belly, but keeps kissing her until her hands are greedily roaming his body and he's groaning in response to their travels. "Everyone already thinks we're crazy, right? Why not really trip them out?" he asks when he comes up for air.

"I suppose that's as good a reason as any to get married," Quinn says, faint sarcasm lacing her words.

"How about, just because I love you?" he suggests.

She blinks quickly, and he knows he's managed to make her cry again, but in a good way. "How about, because I love you?" she offers. "Because I do. I always have, and I always will. And, well, it's easier to live with you than without you."

"That's not saying much, though, is it?" he asks with a grin.

She kisses him again and shakes her head. "It's saying everything, actually."

"We'll have to go to Lima, do this old school," he says. "I should, you know, talk to your dad. And then I'll have to apologize to my mom, and go to Temple with her."

Quinn smiles. "Maybe we can buy some rings or something."

Puck nods. "Yeah, that's probably a good idea."

They kiss again and Puck whispers for her to turn over so her back is to him. He's got plans for now. The rest will wait until he's gotten his fill.


	4. Epilogue

Quinn is sweating, bearing down, and beautiful when she screams his entire name (NOAH! EPHRAIM! PUCKERMAN!). He hopes maybe that means she's changed her mind about Noah James Puckerman.

Then his son slides into the world and she collapses back against the hospital bed, gasping. Puck pries her fingers from around his so that he can cut the cord at the doctor's urging, and Quinn whispers, "Noah," as the baby is laid across her chest (guess that means no, she's not changing her mind). He screams, much like his mother had moments ago, his little fists shaking and his eyes squeezed tightly shut.

Puck's heart feels like it's beating somewhere outside of his chest and Quinn laughs joyfully, her hand reaching up to touch his face. His eyes move from his kicking, angry son to his grinning, exhausted wife. He can't help himself, he leans down and kisses her (with tongue), but she's still just laughing so it's not really a sexy kiss, even though he's trying to convey just how much this moment makes him want her.

"Thank you," she says, her fingers still tracing his jaw. "Thank you for giving me him."

He'd correct her, tell her that it's her who has given him everything, but he can't speak around the lump in his throat. He touches one of Noah's fists, and the small hand opens reflexively to grip one of Puck's fingers. His eyes fly back to Quinn's and he can't even try to pretend that he's not crying. She wraps her hand around her son's as it's wrapped around his father's finger and they kiss again. He's finally able to choke out, "I love you, so much," before the nurse comes and takes Noah away to clean him up.

"Best day ever," Puck says, his hands cupping her face. His lips rub hers softly.

"Best day ever, _so far_ ," she corrects gently.

For a split second he begins to imagine everything that's to come, all the things they missed with Alicia, but he barely has time to dwell on it as a newly swaddled Noah is returned to them. Quinn says, "Let his father hold him," and the nurse smilingly hands the baby over to Puck.

His weight is so slight, but just perfect within the crook of Puck's elbow. He looks down at the child who has perfect bow lips like his mother, but he also sees himself in the nose and chin of the little face. Then his son's eyes open and the jolt he feels in his chest is unlike any sensation he's ever had before. He seeks Quinn's gaze again, and she is just lying quietly, watching him, tears on her lashes. "Thank you," he finally says.

She smiles, as she is so apt to do these days, and Puck realizes his heart's been outside of his chest for months now. "You're welcome."


End file.
